


Just What The Doctor Ordered

by HalfshellVenus



Category: Die Hard (Movies), Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/pseuds/HalfshellVenus
Summary: The road to recovery is long. That isn't always bad.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nestra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nestra/gifts).



If anything serious ever happened to you, you were supposed to get the _good_ drugs—that's what people always said. Matt Farrell's drug experiences were limited to pot and inappropriate encounters with Robitussin, and he'd never really been hurt, which had worked out just fine for more than twenty-plus years. Then one day, the Fire Sale came along. 

Matt had found himself being chased, threatened, and half-blown-up before he got into some kind of studlier-than-thou faceoff with Thomas Gabriel, and was shot right in the fucking knee.

Holy _shit,_ but that had hurt. 

All Matt could say about it now, when he wasn't envisioning an eternity of only potentially-successful rehab, was that yes, the drugs the doctors had given him were very, very good.

John McClane probably could have told him that. McClane had been shot that day, too—not for the first time—and he was on a regimen similar to Matt's. The two of them were holed up together in McClane's apartment, recovering. Matt had nowhere else to go after his former residence was reduced to char and rubble, and McClane had kindly offered him a place to stay. Now the two of them hobbled from bed to bathroom to sofa in an unhurried hamster-wheel circuit of sleeping, pain pills, and recovery. 

When Matt wasn't completely exhausted, he preferred being out on the sofa. Bed was in McClane's guest room, a place so unfamiliar and quiet that it was unnerving. Sometimes, Matt felt that if he were on the verge of dying in there and called out for rescue, no one would even hear him. Bed was where boredom launched spikes of pain through his leg, and where lonely thoughts about his future (or the lack of it) crept in to torment him. With a nearby television and a resident, beefy cop, the sofa provided multiple distractions.

McClane seemed to prefer the sofa too, though maybe it was part of his larger tendency to cling to normalcy as a means of denial. Lying in bed meant admitting to an injury. Sitting in the living room and hanging out was more like a vacation. A choice, not a limitation. Maybe McClane was on to something? He'd come back from worse than a shoulder wound several times before.

McClane and Matt would sit in front of the TV together, occasionally talking about what was on, or what to watch next. At least, Matt liked to think so. Sometimes he wondered if they looked more like a couple of cavemen instead, grunting at each other and pointing at things until they reached an agreement. The drugs would do that to you. Matt often found himself staring at things, unable to be sure what he was seeing. A classic Western, or a World-Wide Wrestling event? Both were colorful, action-packed, and generally over-the-top.

Cops from McClane's precinct brought over food, which was like manna from heaven when both McClane and Matt were barely competent enough to work the microwave. Matt wasn't very hungry anyway. For the moment, everything but pain pills and sleeping was overrated.

Then, after what seemed like a month but might have been a couple of weeks, Matt's injuries became less painful. His doctor took the opportunity to change his pain meds. 

Everything suddenly got a whole lot weirder.

There was no babbling about pretty colors and stuff (god, at least Matt hoped not), but he definitely felt less sleepy and a lot looser. _Floatier,_ even. (Was that a word?) He felt unhinged and happy, free to be you-and-me and to laugh at pretty much anything, because god, people took everything so _seriously_. It was ridiculous.

"What's gotten into you?" McClane asked one morning, when Matt was giggling over some TV commercial. 

_Talking alligators, man, really? Who comes up with shit like that?_ Matt thought. _Oh, wait, did McClane just…_

Matt looked over at him. "Huh?"

"This." McClane waved his good arm at Matt. "Right now. It's like you're drunk or something."

"Oh." Matt leaned back against the sofa, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Drugs," he said. " _Those_ drugs—for my knee?"

McClane reached for the bottle.

"Wow, you have some serious arm muscles there, McClane. You could save the world with arms like that," Matt said. "Or, I mean, you know—you actually _did_." He felt a sudden surge of hero-worship rise up inside him, and fought to hold it back. _Shut up, shut up—you're being an idiot. Why are you even talking? God, but he smells good…_

McClane gave him a funny look, but just nodded. "Thanks, kid." He nudged Matt gently with his uninjured arm. "I had a little help," he said.

Matt laughed. "Not much."

"More than most people would give, and believe me, I know. This isn't my first time with the whole large-scale destruction scenario."

Matt leaned into him, lightly jostling him. "Who knew being a cop was this exciting?"

McClane chuckled. "If only it came with hazard pay."

"Yeah," Matt said. "It does pretty much suck. But you could think of this as a paid vacation."

"I hate vacations."

Of course McClane hated vacations—he probably had a tattoo somewhere that said that. "Well, sure, this isn't a particularly _good_ vacation, but it beats working, right?"

"Are you telling me there isn't something you'd rather be doing?" McClane asked.

"With no job and no apartment? And seriously, I'm wearing the only clothes I have left. So realistically?" Matt said. " _No_. Regular life hasn't been all that great for me lately."

"Oh. Yeah, I forgot." McClane said. "Sorry, kid, I wasn't thinking." He looked away for a moment, and then back, a smile tugging at his lips. "I don't usually have company on vacation, so this is already an improvement."

"You bet your ass it is," Matt said. "Plus, we're—you know… not _dead_."

"Think you might be crossing a line there, kid."

"Story of my life, McClane. All I'm saying is, I'm glad to be here and not in a billion little pieces like my apartment. Or living in Warlock's basement until I get back on my feet again."

"I would never let that happen to you, kid—or Warlock's mother, either. She probably has her hands full already…"

"Yeah, no kidding." Matt reached across McClane for the remote, fumbling a little with the distraction of the heat coming off of McClane's body—and what the hell was happening to him anyway, with the sudden movements and this awareness of things he'd never even thought about before? 

McClane breathed in sharply, and Matt wanted to kick himself. "Did I bump your arm? I'm sorry."

"No, it's just… I can't tell if you're flirting with me or trying to hurt me, you know?"

"Yeah, me either," Matt said. "But why would I hurt you? Apart from clumsiness, I mean. And if I tried to flirt with you, you'd probably kill me."

"I haven't killed you yet."

"That's true. So, flirting would theoretically be okay? Not that I've really done that with a guy before, so I'd probably be totally incompetent at it."

"Yeah, me too," McClane said. "But hey, what the hell. Go for it."

"Okay. Um…" Matt fidgeted. "Maybe if I sat closer. Can I? Would that be all right?"

"Go ahead, kid, knock yourself out."

"Good, because I have no idea what to say. I mean, obviously you know I like you, but as flirting goes, that's pretty lame. God, I'm horrible at this…"

"That's okay," McClane said. "I like you too."

"Oh. Good. That's a relief. Also… you smell really good."

"Really," McClane said, that slow, thoughtful smile starting up—and wasn't that some kind of flirting on its own? 

"Yes." Matt cleared his throat. McClane leaned into him, and Matt's eyes closed as a dizzying heat flowed through him. "Uh… it's kind of hard to think when you're doing that."

"Kid," McClane laughed softly.

Matt tried to focus on finding something witty to say while his body strained against the urge to bounce or run or just do something— _anything_. 

Action won. Matt found himself grabbing McClane by the shirt and kissing him, because words were overrated and right now he couldn't make them go where he wanted them to anyway.

 _Oh, god…_ Kissing McClane was really, really good— _so_ good. Everything else just faded away.

After a brief sound of surprise, McClane kissed Matt back, soft and slow, and it was _perfect_. Matt could not keep still—his hand roamed over McClane's chest and he kissed McClane harder and deeper, because nobody was getting killed yet, so why the hell not?

He kept wanting to shift over into McClane's lap, but the knee injury held him back. No way was his leg flexible enough to maneuver like that. Still, he wanted more—everything—and he wanted all of it _now_.

McClane leaned back, breathing roughly. "That's not what I call incompetent," he rasped.

Matt moved forward and sucked on McClane's earlobe. "I know, right?" He mouthed and nuzzled McClane's neck, and McClane pulled him up for another kiss. 

"Nghhh…" Matt groaned, as McClane cupped the back of his head with one hand and brushed his thumb across one of Matt's nipples with the other. Matt arched into him, his entire body burning for McClane's touch. "Can we—" Matt gasped against McClane's mouth. "I mean, here?" He tried to pull McClane closer. " _Ow!_ Fuck, why are we both half-crippled? "

"What, you're not having second thoughts?" McClane smiled slyly, his fingers rubbing at the back of Matt's neck. "Because you know, my bed's big enough for us to work this thing out." 

"Yeah?" Matt thought of McClane's chest—those pecs that could stop traffic—and all that skin and muscle naked and pressed up against him. Heat washed over him. The two of them like that, it was totally possible, unless—

"You sure _you're_ ready for this?" Matt asked.

McClane laughed. "Kid, I think I've been ready since I pulled us out of that tunnel. I just didn't know it."

 _God, me too,_ Matt thought, grinning like a maniac. "Then why are we still talking?" he said.

"Fuck if I know." 

McClane got unsteadily to his feet, and then reached back with his left arm to help Matt up. The two of them half stumbled toward the bedroom, moving faster than they had for weeks in their hurry to get there.

McClane guided Matt around to the far side of the bed, and helped him sit and then lie down and get comfortable. Then he got onto the bed from the bottom and moved up until he was next to Matt, his good arm and Matt's good leg between them. 

"Think this'll work?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"I'll take it even if it doesn't," Matt said, reaching for McClane's shirt and trying to get it off or open or whatever would let him see what those clothes had hinted at, back on the Fourth of July.

McClane chuckled. "It's okay, kid," he said. "We'll get there." 

He unbuttoned his shirt, and Matt helped him get it over the wounded shoulder. God, McClane's chest was everything Matt could have wanted, not that he'd ever obsessed over it or anything. 

Probably. 

He brushed his fingers over McClane's skin, touching the smooth softness over hard muscle. It was warm and amazing, and Matt felt light-headed at the idea that all this was really happening. 

McClane reached for him in return, the flat of his hand running down Matt's stomach and over the top of his thigh, then up the inside as Matt gasped and felt the world spin inside his head. "God," Matt choked out.

He slid his hand around McClane's neck and kissed him, hot and dirty. McClane's tongue caressed his, strong, insistent, and Matt felt like his head was swimming. Whether that was because of McClane or the drugs—or even both—it didn't matter. He could tell this was going to be epic. 

He ran his hand along McClane's chest again. That chest could star in its own porn film—Matt would definitely buy tickets. McClane's stomach was firm and flat, and when Matt palmed across McClane's erection, McClane bucked under his hand and bit back a groan that made Matt achingly hard. He wanted to chase that sound out into the open, break through McClane's nonchalance and make him shake with need.

McClane's hand slipped down the front of Matt's gym shorts, and Matt suddenly forgot every thought in his head. 

McClane stroked Matt's cock, wrapping his hand around it and rubbing his thumb across the tip. _God, yes—just like that._ Matt kissed McClane harder, his heart beating faster and faster until he was running out of air. He broke off and nuzzled his face against McClane's chest, his body vibrating and shuddering as McClane worked up and down his length. Those strong fingers pulled his cock, the thumb squeezing and rolling just hard enough to feel good.

A gritty sensation took hold of Matt's body, burning right through him as he held McClane tightly and came all over his hand. 

"Oh, god…" The words gusted out across McClane's skin. Matt briefly wondered whether he was dying, then decided it was the most alive he'd felt in ages. McClane should seriously get a medal for that kind of talent, holy shit.

"You still with me, kid?" McClane asked.

"Yeah," Matt said, "Just… wow." He laughed softly. "That was amazing."

"Glad to see I haven't lost my touch."

"No," Matt grinned, "no chance of that."

He hooked his arm around McClane's neck and pulled him down for a kiss, and then reached down to grab hold of McClane's cock. It was still hard. Matt rubbed the warm, silky length of it as McClane's body lifted toward him and his breathing grew strained. 

_C'mon,_ Matt thought, biting and then sucking on McClane's lower lip as he heard the long, slow hiss of air that meant he was definitely getting McClane riled up. Matt paused to lick his palm, and then got down to business. He worked McClane over with slow, firm strokes, speeding up as McClane's breath hitched in response. 

McClane's hand stroked along Matt's back and across his neck, cradling Matt's head against his chest. Matt smiled against that warm skin, felt McClane's stomach go rigid, and then McClane groaned as he slicked Matt's hand. 

"Fuuuck," McClane whispered. 

Matt felt like he'd won something he hadn't even known existed. 

Maybe he had.

McClane ran his fingers slowly through Matt's hair, neither of them in any hurry. Matt was just drifting off when McClane spoke.

"Any regrets?" he asked.

Matt lifted his head to look at him. "Are you out of your mind? God, no. Wait, are you—"

"No, no…" McClane chuckled. "Just wanted to be sure you weren't going to change your mind after the pills wore off."

Matt leaned back down against McClane. "If I did, I'd be an idiot. And I'd just take more pills until I, you know, got over myself."

McClane stroked his hair again. "Okay." 

"So, you're not going to, like, toss me out on the street now? Or as soon as my leg is better?"

McClane laughed. "Kid, you're the most exciting thing that's happened to me in a long time. I'd be crazy to let you go."

"Oh…" Matt was stunned. "Really? Because I can be a little, uh, what I mean is, I'd hate to get on your nerves."

"Nah," McClane said. "Believe it or not, this is the most sense things have made in years."

Matt leaned up on an elbow, taking in the teasing smile on McClane's face and the whole package of him, really. The man wasn't afraid of anything, whether it was saving the world from terrorists or crushing macho male stereotypes under his heels. Plus, he was fucking hot enough for even a straight guy to notice.

Well, formerly straight, maybe. But _damn_.

"So," Matt said, "I don't have to pack up my things and be on the next train out of town?"

"Kid," McClane said, laughing as he reached for Matt again, "you don't even have to be in the next room.

"I'm officially upgrading you to the master suite."

 

_\--- fin ---_


End file.
